


Christmas Countdown

by ozonecologne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (except not really!), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Christmas, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8854777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozonecologne/pseuds/ozonecologne
Summary: To: SamShould I send an xmas card to my fuck buddy?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Friends with benefits college AU, frat boy!Dean.  
> 8 days of Christmas in honor of the 8 years that Dean and Castiel have known each other. Happy holidays everyone <3

_8 Days Until Christmas_

**To: Sam**

**Should I send an xmas card to my fuck buddy?**

Dean sets his phone down with a line between his eyes and his lip between his teeth. He’s been staring at the stack of envelopes the house put him in charge of addressing for like 10 minutes, wondering if he should put that one dumb name on the back of one. The card they ended up going with is real classy, too: every member of Sigma Chi is naked apart from some strategically placed Santa hats. Dean himself is pictured in the top left, right under the “H” in “Holidays,” grinning with all his teeth and proudly standing with his hands on his hips.

Yeah, that’s totally something you can send to a hook up. It’s kind of cute, right? In an endearingly dorky way.

Dean’s phone vibrates and he hastily reaches for it. His tongue is dry from licking all the envelopes so far, and he smacks his lips together as he opens Sam’s reply.

_How cheesy is the card?_

Dean quickly sends off a grainy picture of his own smug face and waits for Sam to respond. He taps his fingers on the desk while the gentle, soothing sounds of Mariah Carey sigh through the stereo in the living room.

 _Absolutely not,_ Sam says at last.

Which, of course, means that Dean is definitely going to fucking send one.

Sam just doesn’t know the context. He wasn’t there for rush week, when Dean and his brothers set the pledges loose on unsuspecting dorms (and their sleep-deprived residents). He wasn’t there for the relentless practical joking and the excessively loud partying, which is what brought Dean and the RA from next door together in the first place. Everyone is well aware of Dean’s reputation and no one expects any different, so it’s not like he’s going to scandalize anyone’s delicate sensibilities. Dean doesn’t even know why he bothered to ask Sam in the first place; what does he know?

He should definitely send a card. Castiel’s cool, he can take a joke.

He finishes addressing the envelope with a flourish and sets it aside with a little smirk. His hands are only shaking because he’s starting to cramp up and it’s cold in here.

Merry fucking Christmas.

 

_7 Days Until Christmas_

There’s less than a week until Christmas Eve. The house is practically sick with anticipation, scrambling at the last minute to pull some holiday cheer together after finals. It’s patchy and the bare minimum, nothing like Dean’s mom used to make, but hey. They’re trying, at least.

“Who wants to help with the gingerbread house?” Garth cries excitedly from the living room.

Dean chokes on his beer and hastily follows the other guys out of the room, fleeing to separate corners far far away from this particular activity.

A strong, thin hand claps him on the shoulder. “Oh no you don’t,” Garth singsongs.

Dean whines, but ultimately acquiesces. He is put in charge of holding slabs of gingerbread together while the icing dries.

“So,” Garth begins, contemplating a selection of gumdrops. “I was thinking we could trim the edges of the roof pieces and use the leftovers to make a little chimney. What do you think?”

Dean resists the impulse to bang his head against a wall. “Why does it have to have a chimney?” Dean grumps.

Garth looks at him with wide eyes. “Because _we_ have one! This is supposed to be a miniature, you silly goose,” he says, like Dean’s an idiot.

Dean unsuccessfully fights back a grin. His hands are steadier than Garth’s, so he also helps pen a replica of the banner outside with ΣΧ in blue and yellow icing. Garth slaps him on the back when he’s done.

“I knew you had the decorating bug! You’re softer than you look,” Garth crows.

Dean glares and squirts a big glob of icing square in the center of Garth’s chest. This single act of aggression spirals into a mini food fight – M&Ms flying left and right – that is only stopped once the chimney is caught in the carnage and Garth squeals for Dean to help him fix it.

The finished product is proudly displayed in the center of the kitchen table, a little crooked and insanely sweet.

“So, you seeing Bess over the holiday?” Dean asks, licking some stray icing off his index finger.

Garth goes all doe-eyed. “Yeah,” he sighs. “We’re having dinner at her parents’ house. I bought a new tie.”

Dean smiles. “Glad to hear it. Can’t be looking scruffy for your Meet the Parents moment.”

“You’re welcome to come with us, you know. Bess’s family is real nice,” Garth offers.

Dean’s mood sours and he shakes his head. “‘Preciate it, but no thanks, Garth. I’m ok here.”

Garth’s frown turns all watery and for a second Dean worries that he’s going to try to hug him or something. Instead he just offers Dean the last couple peanut M&Ms, which Dean happily eats.

“Well, wouldn’t want you to miss the Christmas Countdown anyway,” Garth says, shrugging. “Do you think you’ll invite anybody this year?”

Ah, right. The annual holiday party that Sigma Chi throws on Christmas Eve. It’s less of a party and more like an informal gathering, definitely not their usual fare. The guys bring their girlfriends over and they all sit around drinking and hanging out until the clock hits midnight and it’s officially Christmas. The Countdown is incredibly exclusive and you have to be kind of special to get an invite. Most girls get lavaliered during the early morning hours as their Christmas present. It’s a well-respected tradition.

Dean shrugs. “I’ve brought people before,” he says.

Garth makes a face. “I don’t think Charlie counts.”

Dean frowns. “Freshman year I brought Lisa,” he argues.

“Yeah, but. That didn’t turn out very well.”

Dean swallows hard and nods. “Ok, fair point.”

Garth fiddles with some of the leftover sprinkles on the tabletop. “I just don’t want you to be lonely,” he says sadly. Thankfully he doesn’t seem to expect Dean to respond to that, and he doesn’t try to bring it up again.

Ever since Dad cut off contact four years ago for going to college the holiday season has been a rough time of year for Dean – Garth knows that. His brother’s just trying to help him feel included over the holiday season and he does appreciate it. Now Dean feels bad for making _Garth_ feel bad, so he throws his arm over his scrawny shoulders.

“I gotta say, man: that is one fine-looking gingerbread frat house,” Dean praises.

Garth beams. “I think so too! I hope Ash doesn’t eat it all before Christmas.”

With a hearty laugh, Dean squeezes him just a little tighter.

 

_6 Days Until Christmas_

The holiday festivities don’t stop there for the Sigma house: straws are drawn to determine who is in charge of outdoor decorations, who is in charge of cooking (Benny volunteers), and who is in charge of getting the tree. It’s about an hour to the closest tree farm and Dean’s the only one with a car, so with a small pout that can only be due to missing out on Benny’s kitchen preparations, Dean gets assigned driver for the tree squad.

“I better not see any scratches on my Baby,” he threatens as four other guys squeeze into the Impala. “I’ll kill you all, holiday or not.”

“Don’t worry, Deano,” Ash assures, picking something out of his teeth. “We’ll be gentle with her.”

After much deliberation and one almost-fistfight, they end up roping a Douglas fir to the top of the Impala. Apart from one swipe of mud on the passenger side door, the car is spotless after the ordeal. Ash has to lean out the passenger side window to keep the tree steady while they drive though, just in case. Cole sits in the middle seat in the back, smushed on either side and dejectedly holding a wreath in his lap.

They most certainly do not order peppermint hot chocolates at the drive-through Starbucks on their way back to the house. Nope.

While most of the guys are quick to jump out and clear a space for the tree inside, Dean and Aaron set about carefully maneuvering it off the top of the car. It’s a hulking thing, fat around the bottom with a twisty spine.

“Hey, hey! Careful, man!” Dean hisses.

Aaron scoffs but he does move a little slower so that he doesn’t damage the Impala. “Your relationship with your car is unhealthy, man. You need to get a real girlfriend.”

Dean scoffs. “Baby’s the only woman I’ll ever need in my life,” he says.

Aaron grunts as he takes a few pine needles to the face. “So get a boyfriend,” he wheezes, under the crushing weight of the tree.

Dean hesitates for a second, under the guise of wrapping his hands around the bottom branches securely enough to hold. “Funny,” he says. He laughs a little too for good measure.

Dean hoists the base of the tree onto his shoulder and surreptitiously peeks next door.

Castiel is sitting at his desk, just like always, right in front of his third story window. It’s dark inside and he’s pretending that he doesn’t see them down here, even though anyone could hear the rumbling roar of the Impala from a mile away. There’s no way that he missed their entrance.

So Dean flexes a little as he adjusts the tree’s weight on his shoulder, making sure that his size-too-small sweater pulls nicely around his arms and rides up his hip just enough to be tempting. Then he marches inside like the stud he knows he is.

When they’ve got the tree placed in a stand and the pine needles have been dutifully swept away, Dean edges towards the front door.

“Hey! Don’t think you’re getting out of stringing up lights just because you drove!” Gordon calls after him. Dean waves a hand over his shoulder and darts back outside, anticipation swooping low in his gut.

He’s an aloof son of a bitch, but Dean’s gotten pretty good at reading him after these last few months. Sure enough, Castiel is leaning up against the Impala when Dean finally makes it to the driveway.

Dean whistles at him. “Well, well. What can I do for you, hot stuff?” he calls. He crosses his arms so that the sweater frames his chest better.

Castiel doesn’t appear to notice. “I’m just doing my civic duty in informing you that Christmas trees are a potential fire hazard and to keep them properly watered during the holiday season –”

Dean grins. “Come on, we’re responsible guys. Don’t you trust us, Cas?”

One of Castiel’s eyebrows arches up beautifully, but his expression doesn’t change otherwise. “Not even remotely.”

Dean tsks and reaches out to palm at Castiel’s hip. “Did you get the card?” he asks, dropping his voice.

“Yes,” Castiel replies, rolling his eyes. “I did.”

Dean grins and ducks his head. “Good.”   

Castiel’s mouth smells like coffee like it always does and whatever material his sweater is made of is softer than anything Dean’s ever felt before, so he bunches his fist in it and toys with the idea of yanking him in for a kiss right here in broad daylight.

“So… you on call tonight?” Dean asks, as subtly as he can manage (which is not very, judging by the smug look that Castiel gets on his face a second later).

“No.”

“Nice,” Dean declares. “Wanna come over?”

“If you’d like.” Castiel deftly steps out of Dean’s hold and doesn’t even bother to wave over his shoulder as he walks back next door. “Remember: fire hazard.”

Dean watches him go. “Yes, thank you, Smokey!” he calls.

He trots back into the house with a little extra bounce in his step, shaking his head all the way to the kitchen. He doesn’t say a word as he ducks down under the sink to grab the crockpot from its seasonal dwelling place, but he does start whistling to himself as he takes down cloves and cinnamon from the spice cabinet and the jug of cider from the fridge.

Benny raises an eyebrow at him, cradling a mixing bowl in his arms. “What’s got you so chipper?” he asks.

Dean leans down to sniff at a casserole dish perched on the counter, waiting to be shoved into the oven. “Nothin’. Just feels like it’s gonna be a good night,” he says. He groans. “Hope you made more of this,” he says, nodding at the dish.

Benny nods. “This many stomachs to feed? I’m making three of everything. You makin’ that cider now?”

“Yep. What else is on the menu?”

The oven beeps, preheated. “Well we can’t do ham since we got Aaron this year, so I’m thinking about doing a roast chicken. Some sweet potatoes – you know, with the marshmallows in ‘em. Andy keeps trying to put weed in the brownies.”

Dean raises his eyebrows and reaches for an orange. “You gonna let him?”

Benny looks up at Dean from underneath his brow. “Maybe in one pan,” he concedes. “But only if you help me in here. I don’t trust the others.”

Dean grins. “Awesome.”

Boy, does he love the holidays.

“Who the fuck did this,” Gordon grumbles in the next room. “Every year we unpack the stupid lights and every year they’re a goddamn mess!”

Dean calmly stirs everything and sets the crock-pot to boil. “Lemme me help you with that before you have an aneurysm, Walker.”

“Finally, some human decency around here,” Gordon mutters. He shoves a box at Dean and they set to work untangling the lights along the floor. He makes trips between the living room and the kitchen throughout the afternoon, taste testing for Benny and quietly supporting Gordon’s efforts to spruce up the living room, serving mugs of soup and hot cider to anyone that happens to be hanging around.

After an alcohol-infused tree-decorating session that mostly turns into a Die Hard viewing party, Dean hears the front door quietly swing open. He rolls the cricks out of his neck and stands on cue.

“Well, I’m heading to bed,” he says to those still awake. “Don’t wait up.”

Ash, slumped into a corner of the couch, gives a half-hearted salute. “You’re a champion, my dude,” he slurs, then holds up his hand for a fist-bump.

Dean knocks his own fist against his as he rounds the couch. “See you guys.”

“Later,” the guys echo.

Castiel already has his boots unlaced and tucked discreetly away underneath the coats by the door. Dean grins at him sleepily.

“Hey,” he whispers, leaning in for a kiss.

“Hello,” Castiel murmurs back. It has to be a quick one – anyone could come around the corner – so Dean makes himself pull back and head for the stairs. It’s a good thing they’re doing this here, because even with the cold air sobering him up Dean really isn’t in any condition to walk anywhere for a booty call at 2am, even if it is only next door.

He stumbles a little on the stairs but Castiel isn’t far behind to steady him. Dean lazily kicks his door open and ushers Castiel in, twisting to close the door behind him.

He’s pushed up against it before Dean really even gets a chance to say anything, and Castiel’s got his mouth on Dean’s so fast it makes him dizzy.

“You taste like Fireball,” Castiel murmurs, in a deep, rumbling voice.

Dean shivers. “Mhm,” he says. He reaches up to Castiel’s shoulders and tangles his hands together behind his head. “Touch me.”

So Castiel does.

They clumsily make their way to Dean’s bed in the dark, shedding clothes as they go. Dean’s belt gets tossed onto his desk as quietly as they’re able to manage, and Castiel’s shirt gets thrown somewhere near the closet. Dean’s never been so grateful to have a single, because this thing is happening hard and fast tonight and Dean is absolutely electric with it.

When Dean’s head hits his pillow, he’s quick to wrap his legs around Castiel’s hips and draw him closer. With a quiet moan, Dean arches into the biting kisses that Castiel places down the length of his neck and tugs at the wreck of Castiel’s hair.

“Cas,” he thinks he says, hips seeking friction.

Castiel kisses the center of Dean’s sternum and leans up, swiping a thumb up across one nipple and splaying his hand across the pentagram inked onto Dean’s chest. He bucks his hips against Dean’s once, twice, three times in long hard strokes. Dean’s eyes roll back into his head and his hands sliiiiide down Castiel’s sides, raking into skin as they go.

A whisper in the dark as Dean gets his hands into the front of Castiel’s boxers. A gasp and a whine as Castiel digs his nails into the meat of Dean’s abdominals, bearing down on his lap with the all the power afforded to that meaty, six-foot frame of his.

It’s cold in the room and Dean’s still sweating. It feels like he’s living in a dream once he notices how beautiful Castiel looks in this light, blue from the moon with the hazy fat shadows of snowflakes ghosting across the wide plane of his chest. But soon enough his eyes slip closed as they grind and thrust together in a sloppy set of familiar movements. Dean’s brain is going a little soupy, between the alcohol and the endorphins, so when he finally comes between his and Castiel’s stomachs it actually does take him by surprise.

Since he’s pretty much useless at that point, Castiel finishes himself off right over Dean, catching him on the chin with a thin string of come. Dean wipes it off with the back of his hand and tries his damndest to catch Castiel when he collapses down on top of him.

Castiel pants into the side of Dean’s neck, right over where Dean can already feel a mark blooming. Dean hums under his lips.

“Fucking perfect,” Dean mumbles, long past coherency. “Really fucking good, Cas.”

Castiel wordlessly agrees, loose-limbed and pliant where he was stiff and formal that afternoon. Snow continues to swirl in the wind outside and Castiel kisses the soft space under Dean’s ear.

They fall asleep clutched tight together, but he knows it won’t last for long. Castiel will be gone in the morning just like he always is.

 

_5 Days Until Christmas_

The sun is up by the time Dean finally blinks his eyes open, with a pounding headache and a dry mouth to boot. The bed is empty apart from him, but he can see Castiel ducking under Dean’s desk, fishing for a loose sock.

Dean laughs a little to himself. “Hey,” he says.

Castiel looks up then, and even smiles for good measure. His hair is a mess and it’s gorgeous. “Good morning, Dean.”

Dean rolls his neck. “You could have woken me up.”

“I tried, but you were very insistent on staying asleep,” Castiel says, a trace of amusement in his face.

Dean blushes and clears his throat. Sometimes his subconscious gets the better of him. He desperately tries to pretend like he wasn’t hoping to wake up spooned against him.

“Heh, sorry. What time is it, anyway?”

“About 11,” Castiel says, victoriously retrieving his lost sock. “Now that you’re awake I think I’ll be going,” he tells him.

It’s a dismissal, albeit a polite one. Castiel is usually like this in the mornings: a little distant, still frustratingly sexy. Dean decides to push his luck. “You want to stay for breakfast or something?” he asks.

Castiel shakes his head and pulls his shirt on, shaking his hair out. “That’s ok. I would like to use the bathroom, though,” he says.

Dean tries not to look too disappointed. He really wanted pancakes. He bets they would taste even better if he could kiss the flavor out of Castiel’s mouth. “You know where it is,” Dean says, waving a hand. Castiel nods, grateful, and closes the door behind him.

Dean slumps against the headboard.

Castiel doesn’t like him as a person, he knows that much. Between the water balloons filled with chocolate pudding last spring and that unfortunate incident with the flagpole earlier this year, Dean honestly doesn’t blame him. He’s only welcome to his company because when all of Castiel’s unbearable nerdiness gets him wound up too tight, the freak in him gets to release the tension on a willing body. They’ve never talked about it because there isn’t anything to talk about. Dean’s been making his peace with that ever since the first night they swapped hand jobs in the first floor Sigma house bathroom.

Being a bit drunk tends to make Dean maudlin like this. Castiel doesn’t owe him anything. The least he could do for the guy is help make the walk of shame a little less embarrassing. He throws the covers back and shivers a little as he starts collecting Castiel’s discarded clothes for him - a hoodie there, another sock, jeans over here. He picks Castiel’s pants up off the ground because they’re closest, but something spotted out of the corner of his eye makes him freeze where he stands.

Castiel’s wallet had fallen out of his pants pocket sometime in the commotion last night, and it’s glaring face-up at Dean on the floor now. A creased piece of thick paper sticks out of the corner, and Dean just can’t help himself. He looks and he knows he shouldn’t have.

Folded carefully into Castiel’s wallet is Dean’s cheesy Christmas card.

A lump works its way up into Dean’s throat. Why the hell would he keep something like that? He had rolled his eyes yesterday. He _rolled_ his _eyes_. Wallets are for wives and kids and brothers and sisters, not for frat boys you can’t even be bothered to eat pancakes with the morning after you fuck them.

He collects the rest of Castiel’s clothes with a strange sense of detachment, like he’s watching someone else lay them out on the bed backwards and inside out. He walks calmly and collectedly out the door to the kitchen with only white noise on his mind. Keeping a photo of Dean in his wallet would usually imply that Castiel _cares_ or something; it’s downright sentimental. But Dean knows that he isn’t actually interested in him beyond the physical, and he can’t stand around an empty room waiting for something that’s never going to happen.

A few guys are hanging around the dining room table eating breakfast when they hear him come in. “Hey! Somebody had fun last night,” Benny crows.

Dean only shoots them a sick look and hastily tries to cover the mark on his neck. He doesn’t say a word as he takes down a box of cereal and wordlessly brings it up to his room.

The company at the table watches him go. “What’s up with that?” Ash asks, tearing into his breakfast sausage with all the finesse of a wild bear.

Garth sighs, and Benny just shakes his head. “Feelings,” Victor sneers.

Ash whistles. “Oof. Condolences, D-man,” he mutters. He raises his next sausage in salute.

Castiel’s already gone by the time Dean gets back to his room, snuck out the back door without another word, so he fires off a few nudes to some girls he doesn’t call anymore before he has the chance to think about it. He needs to remind himself of some boundaries. They’re not exclusive. They never were.

Just because some guy’s got Dean’s Christmas card tucked into his pocket doesn’t mean that he’s entitled to keep Dean’s heart with him, too.

 

_4 Days Until Christmas_

“Dude!” Dean shrieks, stomping down the stairs. “Cut it out,” he adds with a glare.

Benny looks up guiltily from where he’s spinning a mop in the middle of the kitchen. “What?” he asks defensively. “It’s festive.”

Dean shakes his head. He knows that his hair is a wreck, and he totally doesn’t care that standing in the doorway in his boxers probably isn’t the most intimidating because:

“Caroling? Really? It’s 7:00 in the morning, Benny!”

Benny shrugs. “Tis the season, cher!”

Dean throws up his hands and tries to go back to bed.

When he wakes up the second time, it’s because he smells something burning. The house is not actually on fire this time; turns out it’s just a few candles that Victor bought to ‘get in the spirit’ or whatever. He was trying to keep them secret so he wouldn’t get teased for having them and needless to say, that doesn’t last long.

Victor gets Dean back for outing him with the candles by calling very loud attention to the fact that Dean has been watching _Love, Actually_ for a whole fifteen minutes while he waits for his lunch to heat up in the oven.

“It’s a guilty pleasure!” Dean yells, face flaming, and Victor ends up laughing so hard that he cries.

A package from Sam shows up at the front door later in the day, and Dean almost can’t help himself from tearing into it right that second. He shakes it around for a minute instead and listens to it rattle, wondering if his brother went with a gag gift or a real one, and stows it impatiently under the tree. They’re doing Secret Santa among themselves at the house this year, but there are a few other boxes and bags stacked up beneath the pine from family members and loved ones far away.

Dean tilts his head as he contemplates the wrapping paper. Should he have gotten Castiel something?

He quickly shakes his head to dispel the thought.

 

_3 Days Until Christmas_

Castiel rubs his stubble into the sensitive skin of Dean’s inner thigh as he drags his lips up his cock, lashes fluttering like something straight out of a fantasy. He doesn’t even look bothered that Dean’s got two greedy fistfuls of his hair, doesn’t mind that Dean’s grinding shamelessly into his face and driving the heel of his foot into the meat of his shoulder while Castiel swallows around him.

“Ah,” Dean pants, writhing now. “Fuck, ah, Cas.”

Castiel doesn’t let up – he slides his hands up under Dean’s thighs to knead at the quivering muscle and makes a small sound of encouragement that Dean can feel shoot all the way to the core of him. Dean’s hands flex in his hair and his hips jerk reflexively into Castiel’s mouth. He’s being taken apart piece by piece and it’s almost unbearable.

“I’m gonna –” Dean warns, delirious with want. “Oh, god, I’m gonna – Cas –” but the warning goes unheeded. Castiel hollows his cheeks and takes every drop that hits his tongue while Dean shouts and babbles.

He arches his back and spasms and moans, “Love you, I love you. _Christ_.”

Castiel’s breath comes harsh and ragged but it nearly stops all together when he hears what Dean’s just said. He glances up in shock but Dean’s head is thrown back, his eyes screwed up almost in pain, and his chest heaves like he’s just finished running a marathon. As he slowly comes down and melts into the sheets – hands turned kind and petting in Castiel’s hair instead of pulling rough – Dean gives no indication of realizing that he’s said anything strange at all.

(Which must mean that his subconscious doesn’t find it at all strange to say.)

Castiel slowly pulls off and kisses Dean’s belly. Dean hums and reaches for him with his eyes closed and licks into his mouth, tasting only himself.

An hour later Castiel goes home on shaky legs, alone. Again.

 

_2 Days Until Christmas_

Dean’s feeling good. He gorged himself on candy canes this morning and _A Christmas Story_ is on TV later, which is like his all-time favorite holiday movie. He figures that now is as good a day as any to try his luck and hope for a Christmas miracle.

Most of the students on campus have already gone home for the break, and it appears that Castiel is taking advantage of the freedom to get a jump on his housekeeping. He catches Castiel in the laundry room.

“I’m starting to think you’re depressed or something,” Dean announces.

Castiel pauses from rooting around in his hamper. “What makes you say that?” he grunts, finally unearthing a package of dryer sheets.

Dean shrugs and picks at some of the paint chipping on the wall. “Noticed you didn’t really decorate,” Dean observes. “No lights in your window or anything. ‘Nothing but hooks and some wire,’” he recites, quirking a crooked smile.

Castiel huffs. “I’m not the Grinch. It just didn’t occur to me.”

Dean shrugs. “Real festive at the house. You’re over there pretty much all the time anyway. You could, like, hang out downstairs sometime.”

Castiel bends just enough to toss a dryer sheet into the machine, and Dean watches his thin pajama pants accommodate the stretch. “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Castiel replies. He keeps his eyes down and fiddles with the timer for entirely too long to be casual.

“Hey, it’s cool, man. We always have people over this time of year.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “It’s, um. You know. The, uh, Countdown thing? You should come.”

His heart pounds. He can tell by the tension of Castiel’s shoulders that he knows perfectly well what the Countdown is. Dean knows his answer before he gives it.

“Thank you for the offer,” he says carefully. “But I’m on call this whole week.”

“For an empty dorm?” Dean asks. The question comes out more harshly and bitter than he’d like. “Come on, Cas, take a night off.”

“Dean…”

“It’s fine,” Dean says, though it most certainly is _not_ fine. “Forget it.”

He can feel Castiel’s eyes on him as he walks out of the building, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning his coat up against the cold. He shakes his head and wills the painful throbbing in his chest to just knock it the hell off. _Knew it was too much to ask_ , he thinks, as he walks dejectedly back to his room to wallow.

“Hey, Winchester!”

Dean looks up. Ash and Victor are standing on the roof of the Sigma house, like idiots.

“Help us scrape this shit off!”

Dean shrugs.

They’ve got bottles of beer waiting in the snowdrifts for him and they’re cracking the ice sheets hanging off the gutters with the bottle opener. Dean laughs and drinks and shivers against the cold, and it’s much better to be in the company of friends than to be sulking alone. But it still doesn’t numb the sting of rejection any less.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean announces.

Victor raises an eyebrow at him. “What? You drop something?”

“Nah,” Dean says, sliding carefully down to his ass. He rests his elbows on his knees and tries to ignore the feeling of wet snow seeping into the seat of his jeans. “I think I’m in love, though.”

“Bummer,” Ash commiserates, grabbing another beer.

Dean shakes some of the snow out of his hair. “It’s a bitch,” he agrees.

Victor slides down next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not going to get touchy-feely with you right now,” he prefaces. “And I want you to know: you’re a dumb ass. But a pretty harmless dumb ass as far as dumb asses go. So it’ll be ok.”

Dean snorts. “Thanks, Vic.”

Victor slaps him on the back. “Don’t mention it.” He stands, and leaves Dean at the edge of the roof, dangling his legs off like icicles.

Yeah, that’s probably what’s happened here. He went and fell for the only person on campus that doesn’t actually want more from him. He didn’t realize how badly he wanted Castiel to say yes to him until he heard him say no.

For a minute, he foolishly thought that maybe Castiel could love him too.

 

_1 Day Until Christmas_

As the famous song goes, the lights actually are turned way down low on this lovely Christmas Eve in the Sigma Chi frat house. The guys that stick around put on sweaters – some are stupidly Christmas themed – and hold doors open for close friends and significant others, splaying out around the couch and admiring the lit up tree in the corner. The little twinkle lights that Dean and Gordon had spent so much time untangling during the week sparkle beautifully in the reflection of the beer can string that Ash had lovingly put together and hung between the boughs. Someone had hung up Cole’s dirty socks along the mantle as stockings, and the girls that show up take turns spraying them with fake snow and body spray as they meander through the house. Dean gets hugged so much that he thinks he might pass out, by Bela and Jo and Andrea and all the others that show up with gifts in their hands to spend the day with their campus family.

Benny really outdoes himself with the food and they still end up eating everything. Dean gets two (2) pieces of homemade apple pie and he doesn’t have a single complaint. He does have to unbutton his pants for a minute when he finally sinks into the couch, though.

“Feelin’ good?” Benny asks him just as his eyes start to droop.

“Real good,” Dean replies, giving him a thumbs up. “Good job, brother.”

Benny pats him on the shoulder and drops the Santa hat on his head onto Dean’s. It slips into his eyes and Dean pushes it back with a little laugh.

“So, Dean. When’s Charlie coming?” Ash asks, fiddling with his laptop in the corner. He has a total geek crush on her that is very poorly concealed.

Dean shakes his head. “She’s with her mom this year,” he says. “Might be the last time, so…”

Ash shakes his head and Jo pouts from where she’s tucked underneath Victor’s arm. “That sucks,” she says. “I sent her a text before she left.”

Dean nods. “Me too. Hope she’s doing ok.”

Bela stretches lithely against the back of the couch, plopping her feet expectantly into Gordon’s lap. “So are we to expect anyone else calling for you this evening?” she teases, winking at him.

Dean knows without looking in a mirror that he’s turned bright red. “Uh, no,” he says. “I got turned down.”

Jo nearly spits out her beer. “Are you kidding?” she laughs. “When has that ever happened?” she asks, directing her question towards her boyfriend.

Victor shrugs. “In recent memory? Like, never.”

“I’m man enough to admit it,” Dean sighs, sipping his own beer.

Bela snorts. “There’s still time for you to pick someone up at a bar,” she says, delicately sipping her glass of wine. “I know you’re no stranger to that scene.”

Dean frowns. “That’s kind of sad, isn’t it?”

“Sadder than spending Christmas alone on the couch?” Gordon teases.

Dean chucks a throw pillow at him.

Jo shakes her head and she tries to shield herself from the resulting pillow fight. “Not to harp on it too much, but who turned you down, anyway?”

Dean nervously picks at the hole in one of the couch cushions. “No one you know.”

“Come on.”

Dean sighs. “The RA from next door?” he mumbles.

Benny resurfaces from the kitchen just to give Dean a wide-eyed look. “Castiel? That scruffy guy that’s always hanging around here?”

Dean snaps his fingers. “That’s him.”

He’s a bit worried to see their reactions; he hasn’t been open about seeing men in the past and he knows that some of his brothers wouldn’t be too thrilled about hearing details.

Victor just kind of raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t even know you were into that.”

“I think it’s great,” Bela declares. “You've got a token LGBT brother now. You can claim diversity on your website – that's a real selling point these days.”

“Leave it to you to turn sexuality into a PR stunt, Talbot,” Jo says, stealing her glass of wine and taking a hefty gulp.

Dean sighs and tilts his head back, stretching his arms out along the back of the couch. Maybe he can squeeze a tiny nap in before they start counting down the minutes to Christmas. “Doesn’t matter,” he says through a yawn. “Just gonna try to get over him, I guess.”

“It’s for the best, dude,” Victor nods. He kisses the top of Jo’s head and Jo wrinkles her nose at him.

What follows is a wonderful evening of charades, gossiping, tipsy declarations of love, and sing-alongs that Dean will be hard-pressed to forget as he moves into adulthood. The prospect of leaving the house behind soon weighs heavily on his mind, the thought that moments like these with his family that he has left are few and far between. So he tries to soak up the joy and love while he has it, and puts future days out of his mind. It doesn’t improve his life to dwell on negatives, not at this time of year when he’s supposed to feel grateful for all that he has and proud of all that he has achieved.

He’s up getting another beer from the kitchen when he hears a knock on the door. People have been coming and going all day, so it doesn’t strike him as odd. He shouts over his shoulder that the door’s open before cracking open his bottle and heading out into the foyer himself.

And it truly must be Christmas, because wrapped up in a neat blue scarf and shaking snow from his hair in Dean’s front doorway... is Castiel.

Dean barely stops himself from grinning. “Hey,” he says softly.

Castiel smiles and gently unwinds the scarf from around his neck. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean looks down at the floor. “Didn’t think you were coming.”

Castiel gives him a bashful smile. “Well, I was invited.” He produces a bottle of rum with a red bow tied around it from a deep pocket in his tan overcoat. “I brought, um. Liquor.”

Dean does crack a smile then. He figures it’s got to be some sort of apology gift. When he reaches forward to take the bottle from him, their fingers brush.

“Hey, thanks. We can make some really good eggnog with this,” he says. He waves Castiel forward. “Come on in, man. You’re letting all the heat out.”

Castiel does then, stepping into the house and shrugging out of his coat. Dean steps closer to take it for him.

Castiel squints. “Is that the same hat as…?”

Dean frowns at him. The same – oh, Jesus, the Christmas card. He had a Santa hat covering his junk.

“No! No,” Dean blurts. “Uh, heh. Different one.”

Castiel nods. “Ah.”

Dean nods too. “I like your sweater,” he says, because apparently he’s got less chill than he thought he did.

Castiel looks down and runs a hand down his chest, smoothing down the little folds in the fabric. He’s wearing a ridiculously ugly cardigan, white with red braided trim and decorative Christmas iconography stitched into the fabric, and it’s truly a testament to Dean’s adoration for this guy that he can only bring himself to think that it looks kind of cute. “It’s the only Christmas sweater I own,” he replies mournfully. He gets a funny look in his eye and leans forward to tell Dean somewhat conspiratorially, “I was told I’ve been lacking in holiday spirit.”

Dean purses his lips together. “Hm. Who could have told you that?” He shakes his head. “It looks good.”

Castiel seems struck speechless by the compliment, and they end up staring at each other in the hallway for far too long. Naturally Dean chooses that moment to clear his throat and flee to the kitchen. “Cool. Yeah. You want a drink?”

“Alright,” says Castiel. He goes about unlacing his boots, since it looks like he’s going to be staying for a while.

Comfortable in the familiar layout of the house, Castiel walks around the corner towards the kitchen, taking his time looking at the decorations put up around the house: cotton ball fake snow, the occasional snow globe, poorly cut snowflakes made of construction paper. It’s kind of… sweet. Usually the house is decorated with spilled beer and strobe lights, dark and hot and sweaty. He doesn’t usually see it in its raw state. It feels homey instead, different from what Castiel expected.

He passes by the living room and hears a quiet gasp. He turns.

“Oh, hello. Merry Christmas,” he says.

Jo Harvelle has a hand clasped over her mouth, and Victor is grinning at him like he’s never grinned before. He’s usually not this happy to see him. Must be the season making him giddy.

“Merry Christmas, buddy!” he crows. He laughs a little to himself. Gordon Walker shakes his head and averts Castiel’s eyes, but he’s kind of smiling too.

Their reactions are a mystery to him, and Castiel doesn’t waste time puzzling over them on his way to the kitchen.

Dean is preoccupied with rooting around in the fridge, ass on beautiful display as he rummages. He doesn’t look up when Castiel comes back to his side.

“So, it looks like we do actually have some cream, but I’m honestly not sure how long it’s been in here,” he says. “Hey, I’m willing to give it a go if you are.”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupts.

Dean straightens and glances over. The cold air wafting from the fridge does little to temper his flushed face. “Um, hey. What’s up?”

Castiel shuffles his feet and looks around the room, which is odd for him because he’s usually a pretty straightforward guy. “This is not the usual kind of thing you invite me to,” Castiel tells him.

Dean tenses. “It’s not a big deal,” he mutters.

“It is,” Castiel insists, taking a step forward. “I like you, Dean. Tremendously. And I’m glad that you asked me to be here tonight with you.”

Dean gulps and tries to ignore the way that his hair stands on end when Castiel stands this close. “I just wanted you to spend the holiday somewhere nice. That’s all.”

Castiel takes another step closer, putting them almost chest to chest. His tone drops. “I think you wanted a bit more than that.”

Dean dips his eyes. “Maybe I did. You gonna tell me I’ve been a good boy this year?”

Castiel’s eyes darken, and just when he thinks he’s about to reach up -

“Move, Winchester, come on,” Ash commands, nudging Dean out of the way of the open fridge with his hip. Dean goes stumbling into Castiel, who holds on and drags them both out of the path of the hungry frat boy.

Dean laughs and puts a hand out on the doorframe to stop their momentum. His nose brushes against Castiel’s, and he can’t help reaching up to smooth some of the wayward curls down behind his ear.

“Hey, look,” he says.

Castiel looks up and follows his gaze.

“Mistletoe,” he says softly.

They look back down at the same time, eyes meeting. “I think that means you have to kiss me now,” Dean says. “Since you like me so much and all,” he’s quick to add.

Castiel’s face goes soft, and his mouth curves up at the ends in a tiny smile that Dean has only ever seen a handful of times, in their quietest and most intimate moments together. He hadn’t realized what that smile meant until this moment - or maybe Castiel just hadn’t let him see through it before, until he was sure that Dean could feel the same. “I do,” he says. He brushes his hand along Dean’s neck and fits the curve of his palm to Dean’s cheek.

Dean turns his head to kiss his fingertips. “I like you too, you know. A lot.”

“I know,” Castiel says, and then he’s drawing Dean down.

They kiss heavy and slow, pressed close together. Castiel’s hands go back into Dean’s hair, and Dean fits his hands along Castiel’s sides underneath the hem of his dorky sweater. It’s sweet and warm and Dean’s heart is so full it just might burst.

“Hey! It’s midnight, you guys! Merry Christmas!”

Cheers erupt from the next room, and the sound of party poppers going off rings in Dean’s ears along with the garbled full blown Charlie Brown “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” that starts up. Some wayward tinsel gets thrown on top of Dean and Castiel where they’re crowded together against the door, and it tickles. Dean laughs as they finally pull apart.

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” he says, practically glowing.

Castiel smiles back. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

It’s a real Christmas miracle.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://www.ozonecologne.tumblr.com)


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